


The Isle of the Blessed

by FluffyBeaumont



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyBeaumont/pseuds/FluffyBeaumont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the balmy days of Willie's itinerant apprenticeship to the scoundrel Jason McGuire. Riding at anchor off Havana, Willie finds the heat too much to bear and strips; Jason takes serious exception to what he regards as a blatant test of his iron self-control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Isle of the Blessed

We were anchored just off St. Thomas, near Charlotte Amalie, and the weather was fine: hot and sunny, with not even the smallest hint of a cloud anywhere. It was the perfect sort of a day to slip ashore and lay in our provisions and to investigate a few of the choicer pleasures St. Thomas had to offer. We’d been a long time on the open water, Willie and me, and I know I was looking forward to a wee respite…and perhaps a wee dram, so that evening just after sunset we secured the boat and pulled the dory in. “You row this time,” Willie said. He’s a good looking lad – American, but I don’t hold that against him – with dark blond hair and eyes the colour of whiskey and the ability to fight his way out of any corner. “My back is still aching.”

I slipped a clean shirt over my head and ran my two hands through my hair. “Aching from what? Sure, you’ve been sitting on your arse the whole bloody day.” 

That slid us into an argument, something we seemed to be doing more and more of these days, and I ended up rowing anyway. By the time we moored the little boat and went ashore, Willie seemed to be over the worst of his snit, so we decided to have a drink and then go looking for a little female company. Now, I’ve never had any trouble whatsoever attracting the attention of the fairer sex and by saying that I’m not boasting – but Willie attracts the girls like flies to sweet honey and between me, you and the gatepost, I haven’t any trouble seeing why. Like I said, he’s a good looking lad, but there’s more to it than just that. Sure, I can charm the birds out of the trees but Willie, he’s got something extra. I can’t quite describe it except to say it’s like there’s something good inside of him, shining through, something that people – especially women – respond to. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy that. I’d also be lying if I said that being on the water for weeks at a time didn’t leave me yearning for a bit of female company and there’s only so far you can go relying on your good right hand. 

We found ourselves in a little waterfront pub that was done up like a fishing shack and ordered whiskey. Normally Willie drinks beer but I’ve been teaching him how to appreciate a single malt and I’ve brought him along to the point where he can tell the difference between brands – sometimes. The girl who was serving behind the bar was lovely: English, judging by her accent, and maybe twenty-two or twenty-three years old. Right away she stuck to Willie like he was the Son of God, leaning over the bar, flirting with him, giggling, and he was flirting and giggling right back. It was getting on my nerves and after about an hour I tugged at his arm: “Come on, we’re going.” 

“We just got here.” He yanked his arm away and turned back to the girl. 

“Willie, come on. I’m not wasting my night in this dump.” I wanted to get out before Willie got too interested in the barmaid: if he decided she was his type, he’d drop me like the proverbial hot potato. 

He turned to face me. “What’s your problem, Jason? You said we should come ashore to relax and enjoy ourselves but all of a sudden you’re acting like some old lady. Why don’t you back off?” He turned back to the bar but the girl had been replaced by a fat man in a loud shirt and that was that. We were a ways down the street and he was still complaining about it, saying how he’d been doing well with the girl and why did I have to interfere? I listened for about ten minutes while he banged on about it, then I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against a nearby building. 

“Listen, you little gobshite.” Two old ladies, walking arm-in-arm, turned and looked at us, but I ignored them. “I’ve been stuck on that bloody boat with nothing but you for the past three months. I’m that horny I could bark, and if I were you, I wouldn’t pester me. You might get more than you bargained for. Now, as much as I enjoy watching you work your magic with the women, I’d hoped to indulge a little myself, if you catch my meaning.” 

He blinked, then very carefully reached out and pushed my arm away. I figured he was going to be pissed as hell at me, but he just tapped me on the shoulder and indicated we should keep walking. “A whorehouse, Jason?” 

“A fuckin’ whorehouse, Willie.” I laughed and slung an arm around his shoulder. “If you please.” 

 

 

 

 

Prostitution is illegal in St. Thomas but that doesn’t stop your average entrepreneur from trying his level best to outwit the government. Within fifteen minutes of walking Willie and I found exactly what we were looking for, tucked away on a little back street between a bakery and a florist shop. The girl’s name – or so she said – was Maggie, with hair that had perhaps been blonde once but which she’d since dyed to a lurid shade of red that she probably thought looked natural. She couldn’t quite get past my accent, even when I told her I was originally from Dublin, but there had been a lot of time and a good many seas between then and now. “What would you like, Irish?” And, when I grinned, “You’ve got a lovely smile…those dimples! You should smile more often.” She lay back on the bed, a woman no longer young, but desperately trying for it nonetheless. The bed was a state, the sheets awry and the pillows looked like they’d been through all the wars in the last hundred years. “You like it with the girl on top? Or you want me to suck it?” She sat up and reached for my fly and I closed my eyes. It’s just a temporary thing, I told myself, and then I wondered why the hell I was so goddamn squeamish all of a sudden. She wasn’t the first whore I’d ever been with and she bloody well wouldn’t be the last. 

Except I couldn’t. I just bloody well couldn’t do it. I didn’t know why; I’m not usually so fussy. Maybe it was because the room was so dirty, or the girl herself so…unappealing. “I’m sorry, darlin’.” I tossed some money on the bed— “For your trouble,” —and went out to wait for Willie in the street. I sat on a low wall that ran in front of the bakery and smoked a cigarette and listened to a murmured conversation coming from inside the whorehouse. I felt out of sorts, oddly lonely and restless; I wanted to be gone. “For Christ’s sake, Willie, hurry up.” I tossed the cigarette butt into the gutter and paced awhile. I wondered what was wrong with me, that I couldn’t perform, especially after three months at sea. Was I getting old? Maybe, but not so old that I couldn’t do that. It had to be the girl. There was no other explanation—

“…Jason?” Willie stood grinning on the sidewalk, pointedly zipping up his trousers. “You ready to go?” 

He was luminous, smiling that beautiful smile, and the slight breeze off the water was ruffling his hair. Through the open neck of his shirt I could see the strong, tanned column of his throat and I knew – I knew – I was lost. 

 

 

We cast off from St. Thomas the next morning, sailing north to Havana where I’d promised a buddy of mine I’d pick up a shipment of rum. As it turned out, we’d gone on a fool’s errand: he was gone and nobody in Havana had ever heard of him or the rum he supposedly had waiting for us. By the time Willie and I got back to our boat, I was fit to be tied. “Listen, Jason – “ Willie poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass and handed it to me, poured another for himself. “ – why don’t we just wait for a little while, see if he comes back? We ain’t going nowhere and I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t just enjoy ourselves for a little while.” 

I will admit, he didn’t have to convince me too hard: we’d spent some difficult months scraping around, outrunning pirates and every other kind of scoundrel and gaining precious little out of it. We could do with a rest. “Alright. But we’re gone at the first sign of trouble, you hear me?” 

He grinned, that boyish grin that all but melted your heart. “Now, Jason…when have I ever given you any trouble?” 

Our days were pleasant, lounging on the boat, catching up on some much-needed rest, reading, drinking, and talking as much bullshit as you please. I’m not much for sunbathing and I couldn’t swim the length of myself if you begged me, but Willie – if I didn’t know better I’d say the lad was born underwater. As for the sun worship, it became his habit to strip himself absolutely naked and lie on the deck till he was tanned a deep, uniform brown all over. I’d be lying if I said this new habit of his didn’t grate on my nerves: ever since our foray into that whorehouse in Charlotte Amalie, I hadn’t been thinking of Willie in quite the same way. 

It hadn’t escaped my notice, the way Willie looked: he wasn’t particularly big or tall but he carried himself with a feline grace, and his smile could melt your heart. And he was clever, as clever a lad as I’d ever met, and good with his hands. He read a lot, did Willie, and he could talk intelligently on almost any subject that was put before him. I didn’t have to wonder what women saw in Willie Loomis; I knew. Worst of all, he was aware of it. 

At first the thing lay like an unspoken grievance between us – but as the days wore on and Willie got a little bored, it became a game of his to tease me, to torment me with what I couldn’t have and wouldn’t ever ask him for. If I came out of the wheelhouse and passed him, going aft, he’d bump up against me, pretending it was merely accidental; if I happened to be looking over some charts he’d come along and hang over me, so close that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. He made a habit of standing as near to me as possible while we were talking and sometimes – if he particularly had the Devil in him – he’d reach out and rest his hands on my shoulders. 

We’d been riding our anchor for five or six days and seriously considering whether it was worth our while to stay, or whether we’d be better off going. I was in the wheelhouse, looking over some charts, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Whatcha doin’, Jason?” 

“Wondering if we’re better off leaving.” 

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Willie leaned into me, peering at the chart. “Think we’ll find better pickings somewhere else?” He was naked – he’d been sunbathing on deck – and the stubble of his light beard gleamed gold against his face. Even the tips of his lashes had turned gold in the sun. 

“I do, lad.” I turned to smile at him; our faces were barely a hand’s span apart and I could feel myself responding to him the way I always did. 

“In that case I trust your judgment.” He brushed my cheek with the back of his knuckles, leaning in to smile at me and something – I don’t know what – broke inside of me. 

I pushed him away from me, marched out to where he’d left his cotton trousers slung over the rail. It was so hot that we both wore little else, but Willie had seemed lately to dispense with even that. I balled the trousers up and shoved them into his bare chest. “Put your fucking clothes on.” 

He staggered back where I’d hit him, shocked. “Jason?” 

I didn’t answer. I was too cross with him just then. He knew exactly what was doing, yet here he was playing the innocent, the little bugger. I went for’ard to the wheelhouse, and he went aft, doing God knows what; we were like that for the rest of the day, not speaking, not even looking at each other until well after dark. 

I was having a smoke on deck when I heard Willie shuffle for’ard, the bottle in his hand. He nudged me in the shoulder with it. “Drink?” 

I flicked the cigarette butt overboard and turned to nod at him. “Yes, alright then.” 

In deference to my age and what we both perceived as greater experience, he let me have the first swig. Kentucky bourbon it was, and it went down raw but then turned smooth as silk. We passed the bottle back half-a-dozen times before either one of us said anything, and it was Willie – predictably – who spoke up first. “Tell me what I did, will you?” 

“What you did.” I moved over to sit with my back against the wheelhouse and Willie came to sit beside me. “What you did.” I took another swig from the bottle and passed it back to him. “Are you that stupid, Willie?” 

“Jason – “ The contents of the bottle sloshed and I heard him swallow. “You got me, man. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

I sighed and grit my teeth. Maybe he wasn’t playing the innocent and maybe he was. “Willie…you and I are both normal, red-blooded men.” 

“Sure.” 

“And Willie, we’ve been aboard this boat for a good long time now – the two of us, together.” 

“Right. Okay, I gotcha.” 

“Willie, you are…” How in the name of God was I going to say this? If I came right out and said what I felt and what I thought, he’d probably take a swing at me. If I cloaked the thing in euphemism, like as not we’d be right back where we started. “You are a good looking young fellow. You do know that, right?” There was just light enough to see his face: he looked confused. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Something in my expression must have finally got through to him. “Oh.” 

“Oh.” I was getting angry again. “Is that all you can say, ‘Oh’?” 

He scooted over so he could look me in the face. “Jason, are you mad at me?” Naked from the waist up, he gleamed in the moonlight, all coltish muscles and taut young skin. Christ, he was beautiful. Just looking at him, leaning over me like that, so close that I could smell the salt on his skin…did he truly not realize? 

“Am I mad at you, Willie?” 

“Yeah.” He raised his hand and carefully stroked my cheek with the backs of his knuckles, as he’d done before. “I don’t want us to be mad at each other.” 

“Well, if we’re having a row, Willie, it’s your fault.” I wasn’t ready to give it up, not yet. 

His hand left my cheek and curved around the back of my neck. “We’ve been shipmates for a long time, haven’t we, Jason?” He was so close to me now that our noses nearly touched; I could smell the sweet bourbon on his breath. 

When it comes to physical beauty, I will admit I am a very weak man. I cupped his cheek in my palm and looked squarely at him. I wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding. “Willie.” My throat was suddenly dry and I had to swallow; my heart was pounding in my chest fit to burst. “I might not be the smartest man in the world, but—“

His lips pressed me into silence. He tasted like light, like salt; his mouth was the hottest thing I’d ever felt in my entire life. I pulled him tight against me and wrapped my arms around him, my hands sliding on his naked back. “Willie…”

He drew away, swiftly stood and took hold of my hand. “Come on.” 

The only bed was just inside the wheelhouse, on the port side of the boat, and little more than a crude mattress with a blanket thrown on top of it. Most nights Willie and I slept wherever we happened to be and if the weather was foul we usually bunked up together, but not like this—never like this. We lay together, mother-naked, pressed against each other from shoulder to thigh, so close that I could feel all the individual little pulses of his body. I caught fleeting glimpses of him as we kissed: his face, the fringe of his golden lashes, his lips, swollen from the fervour of my caresses. Whatever we did, I couldn’t even tell you, because it all flowed together and I was with Willie and he was with me and it was—Jesus God—so right, more right than anything I’d ever done with anyone. I clenched my hands in his hair and kissed him as he sobbed his release into my mouth and then I was there myself as the climax laid me open and ravished me away to nothing. 

“Jason.” His voice brought me to myself again. 

“Willie.” 

“We just…”

“We certainly did, lad.” I found myself laughing. “We certainly did.” 

He rolled onto his side so he was looking down at me. “What do we do now?” 

I couldn’t believe what he was asking me. The cheeky young bugger! “What do you want to do?” 

“I want to do it again.” 

His grin was slow and sweet and full of the Devil.


End file.
